Constant
by desmonstres
Summary: They've been best friends for over two decades. Too often Sasuke doesn't do the things he should. [AU. Oneshot. SasuSaku.]


**Hi!** I enjoyed writing this piece. It's a different narrative I was testing out. I think I like the outcome, more or less. It's supposed to have this sort of rushed, fast-paced feeling; I did my best to imagine what Sasuke's stream-of-consciousness would be like. I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading!

* * *

**Constant**

* * *

Sakura is a constant in his life.

Always has been.

He's known her since they were both five.

It was the first day of kindergarten. He found her by the swing set, crying and sniffling, and it was just the two of them. The manners that his mother instilled in him compelled him to ask her why she was crying.

"_The girls keep making fun of me because my forehead is so big."_

He had sniffed disapprovingly at that, not too fond of the girls their year himself because they never stopped ogling him wherever he went.

He was also not too fond of bullies and crying girls.

So he walked over and stood directly in front of her swing. She lifted her head to gaze up at him with teary green eyes.

They were the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

"_Your forehead isn't big."_

She's been attached to him ever since.

At first, he thought she was annoying.

_If I knew she'd never stop following me around after telling her that her forehead isn't big, I would've never bothered._

But then his annoyance became tolerance became acceptance became expectance.

Now he can barely remember what life was like before her.

They are best friends.

She has been by his side for as long as he can remember. There has never been anyone else.

There had never been a need for anyone else because he'd always had her.

She is constant. Unchanging.

Which is great, as far as he's concerned.

He doesn't like change. Change is annoying.

She will always be Sakura. He will always be Sasuke.

And because she is Sakura and he is Sasuke and the two will always be, where he goes, she will follow.

She is always there.

For she is his constant.

Until one day, things are different.

"Sasuke-kun! I want you to meet my boyfriend!"

And suddenly, she is no longer a constant in his life.

She is no longer by his side.

_Since when did she wander off?_

She is no longer the Sakura he once knew.

He wonders if perhaps he ever truly knew her.

Of course he knows her.

She is Sakura.

But she has changed.

She is different.

And he does not like it.

He does not like change.

This is not okay.

This is _not_ okay.

But he cannot deny her that smile on her face, so he grumbles an introduction and tries to look happy…_for her_.

So he watches as this man takes her first kiss. Becomes her first love. Gives her first heartbreak.

What happened to his constant?

She was Sakura—Sakura who never left his side and never stopped smiling.

Now she is Sakura—Sakura he is not sure he knows, who is no longer constant and full of tears.

He wonders if he ever knew her.

She was his constant. She never changed.

But now he can no longer deny that she indeed _had_ changed.

Maybe she had always been changing.

Maybe she isn't the constant he had always believed her to be.

He had been too comfortable with the notion that she would be forever by his side and forever his and…

But she isn't his.

She never was.

This is not okay.

He should say something.

Do something.

Yet he remains silent as she wipes away the last of her tears and moves on…

To the next boyfriend.

And he continues to watch the years go by as she cycles through them, one after another.

Through it all, he says nothing.

But he is always there. By her side.

Silent.

But there.

As much as he doesn't want to stick around to pick up the pieces that the last guy leaves her with, he can't leave her.

And he knows that he is forever hers although there is no 'vice versa.'

He finds it ironic that once upon a time, she had been following him, and now he is the one chasing her.

She was his constant once.

Then one day, finally, her tears become even too much for _him_ to bear, and his silence becomes too painful to keep.

They're both twenty-six, and he counts nine years and thinks that nine years worth of (her) tears is already more than enough.

He thinks this needs to end _now_ because he doesn't think he (_she_) could survive another year—a full decade—of this.

He has watched her go from her first boyfriend to her most recent break-up. Some of them were kind. Some were funny. Some were smart. Some lasted longer than others. All were handsome.

None were deserving.

_Enough is enough._

As he watches her wipe the last of the moisture from her eyes, he starts with the one thing he is certain of in the midst of a million uncertainties.

Her name.

"Sakura…"

But his voice is so soft that she doesn't hear him over the leftover sounds of her sniffles and unknowingly cuts him off.

"Sasuke-kun." She pauses to sniffle again. "Sasuke-kun, what am I doing wrong?"

He sighs.

"You're not doing anything wrong, Sakura."

"Are you sure? Because men seem to be making it a habit of _dumping_ me whenever they so damn _please_."

There is acid in her tone, but he knows it is only there to mask her grief.

"To be fair, you've done your fair share of dumping," he points out.

She grants him an exasperated look.

"That's not the point, Sasuke-kun."

He shrugs.

She looks away with a distant gaze and inhales deeply.

And then exhales, "Is it me?"

He opens his mouth to refute but is beat to it by her scoff.

"Of course it is. Of course it's me."

"Sakura…"

Her eyes lose focus as if she's thinking of things he's not privy to, and he's not sure whether he should be offended or not because she's always been an open book with him.

And then he thinks that maybe this is another one of those things where he thinks he knows her and is then left wondering if he truly does.

Maybe there are secrets she keeps from even him.

"I'm still in love with my first love."

His head whips up to look at her, and his eyes widen, breath caught in the back of his throat.

Now _that_, he thinks, is a pretty big secret.

She's still turned away from him, that distant gaze still dressing her ocean green eyes.

He thinks back to her first boyfriend and tentatively asks, "Naruto?"

She shakes her head. He thinks of her second boyfriend.

"Neji?"

Her head shakes again.

After listing all her ex-boyfriends, her head is still shaking no. He's thoroughly confused. Who's left?

He's sure he's listed all her past flames—which just so happens to be an extensive list, he grimaces.

When she sees he's struggling to figure it out, she smiles wistfully.

"You," she says softly yet firmly, as if she is absolutely certain of this but careful with the strength of its implications.

If possible, he grows even quieter. He's at a loss for words.

"You," she says again.

She laughs now, but there is a tinge more sorrow than joy. She laughs as if she is realizing for the first time the ludicrousness of it all. She laughs like a burden has been lifted.

Her brightened eyes eventually find his and hold him.

He thinks that she's never quite looked at him this way before—with so much love and so much sorrow and so much longing—and then he's wondering if maybe she always has and that he just simply never noticed.

He thinks he's missed more things than he realized when it comes to her.

He's not sure how he feels about that.

"You are my first love. And I swear, you ruined me."

He finds his tongue again.

"Wha—why…when?"

But it is a sad attempt at language.

She manages a distant smile that is amused by his atypical stutter when she answers him.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

How could he not?

He looks down at his legs straightened out in front of him, the seats of the children's swings hanging too low to the ground for his tall stature.

So many years had passed since that day.

"It was here," she continues. "This exact swing set. I was sitting here in this very spot when you found me. Do you remember?"

He finally looks up to see her smiling at him. Her eyes are lit up as if she is reliving happier days.

"It might not have exactly been love back then, but ever since that day, I never had eyes for anyone but you. There was only ever you."

He finds his voice again.

"But all those guys you dated…"

"Were to forget about you."

She finally breaks eye contact and looks away as if she's remembering things he never knew. As if she's feeling things she's never told. Then her eyes are back on him. And there it is again.

That sad, sad smile.

"I got tired of waiting, Sasuke-kun," she says, and he thinks he catches a flash of regret in her eyes. "I got tired of wishing you would see me as more than your childhood best friend. I got tired of hoping for something more. I got tired of thinking that today is the day that you would finally _see_ me."

She looks like she could break.

"Twelve years I loved you and gave you all of me, and I just couldn't do it anymore. It hurt too much, and I thought that maybe it was time that I finally move on."

She smiles at him as if she's sorry.

"Twelve years is an awfully long time to hope."

Then, she's shaking her head with a strange smile on her face, and he wonders if she's reprimanding herself. She has a tendency to do that.

She looks up at him once more, and neither of them blinks.

Her voice is soft and warm and so incredibly full of love as she finally says, "And now it's been twenty-one, and I don't love you any less. In fact, I might love you even more."

He's deathly quiet.

He's not sure what to say.

But she's looking at him like he is her world, her _everything_…

And he's not sure what to say.

Her smile slips away as she steadily regards him, and he looks away, for some reason unable to match her intense gaze.

"Sasuke-kun…"

Pause.

Breathe.

"You will be honest with me, won't you? I know you will. You always are."

He doesn't move. Doesn't answer.

She pleads, "Please look at me."

He doesn't want to but finds it hard to disobey her, so he raises his head and locks eyes with her.

He doesn't know how she can look so hopeful and so defeated at the same time.

"Sasuke-kun, do you feel _anything_ for me?"

Silence.

There are no words exchanged, only the sound of a passing late summer breeze.

A long time passes, and she waits patiently for his answer, but he offers none.

She smiles, and he notes that any traces of hopefulness he may have seen are nowhere to be found.

There is only defeat.

And although her smile is small and sad, it is accepting.

He wonders what exactly she is accepting.

"I see."

She says no more and stands.

He hears the rattling of old chains and the crunching of sand, and she is walking away.

He doesn't stop her.

Later when the sounds of her footsteps are long gone and he is clothed by the darkness of the night, he knows the ache in his chest is regret.

x

It has been two months since he's last seen or heard from her.

One month of dodged calls, piled up voicemails, one-way texts, and unanswered doorbells.

Another month of silence.

He takes note that he's never gone this long without her presence, her voice.

It's a strange feeling he decides he doesn't like.

After an uninterrupted twenty-one years of her constant companionship, these two months without her are woefully empty.

This unexpected emptiness, he discovers, is longing.

He misses her.

It is two months before he sees her again.

And when he does, it is completely and utterly by accident.

It is chillier now as the remnants of summer are fading away, and autumn is making herself known.

He is on his way to dinner at his mother and father's house when he passes a florist and figures he should probably not arrive at his parents' residence empty-handed. A nice bouquet would help placate his mother's habitual nagging for not visiting more often.

When he enters the flower shop, the hanging chimes announce his arrival. A beautiful blonde woman pops out from the back of the shop with a cheery smile.

"Hi! Welcome to Yamanaka Flowers. How may I help you?"

He greets her with a slight upturn at the corners of his lips.

"Hi, I need a bouquet for my mother. Preferably one with camellias."

"Special occasion?"

"More like a peace offering."

The blue-eyed florist smiles understandingly.

"I think I have just—"

"Ino! What do you think of these?"

He freezes when he hears that voice coming from the back of the shop.

He immediately recognizes it.

It is _her_.

She emerges from a doorway with a vase of fully bloomed pink and cream peonies.

She has a smile on her face, and for a quick moment, he realizes how long it's been since he's last seen her smile.

Then, her head lifts, rosy strands framing her face, and her eyes widen when she sees him.

They're both frozen in place, unblinking eyes not leaving each other.

He soaks in her presence and summons all his willpower to not immediately run to her and embrace her.

But he can't stop the one word that escapes his mouth.

"Sakura…"

He sees her flinch, and he feels a pang of hurt in his chest.

The florist looks back and forth between her customer and her friend.

"Do you guys kn—_oh_… Oh, I see." She swallows. "Do you two need a moment?"

Sakura's eyelashes flutter mesmerizingly as she blinks a few times and remembers where she is. She turns to the blonde and smiles.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll just take the peonies. Can you cash me out?"

Ino shakes her head.

"Don't worry about it."

"But Ino…"

"Really, Sakura. Don't worry. Just buy me dinner next time, and we'll call it even, okay?"

Sakura's eyes soften.

"Thanks, Ino."

The florist waves off the sentiment.

She finally turns to him and asks, "Are you still interested in the flowers?"

He nods.

"Yes, that would be great."

There is an awkward moment when the florist disappears into the back of the shop, and he is left alone with the girl he's known since they were five.

But before long, he is handed a bouquet of mixed blooms, pays, and isn't sure how he feels about leaving the store side-by-side with the woman he hasn't seen or heard from for the past two months.

They walk to the end of the block in heavy silence before she stops and turns to face him.

"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you, Sasuke-kun," she says. "I just…needed some time."

He desperately wants to hold her and tell her, _Please don't apologize_, but he doesn't.

There is so much he wants to say.

So much he wants to tell her.

But there is no time.

Not right now.

"Sakura," he says for the second time that day and thinks he might have seen her shiver. "I'm actually on my way to dinner, and I can't be late. But can we get coffee afterwards?"

Her eyes shift from him to the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

There's a moment of panic that feels like a thousand years where he wonders if she's getting the wrong idea.

He's about to tell her that it's not what she thinks. That there is no other woman.

That there is only—and only ever will be—her.

But then she smiles wistfully and nods, looking back at him.

"Tell Mikoto-san that I miss her."

He nearly wants to laugh at himself because, _of course_, she knows him better than that. Of course she remembers how much his mother loves camellias.

How insulting to believe otherwise.

"Why don't you come over when you're done?" she suggests. "I promise I'll answer the door this time."

He nods and almost smiles at her almost joke.

And he wants to touch her.

He imagines brushing carnation pink bangs away from her face.

Tracing her jawline.

Holding her close.

He doesn't.

Instead, they say their farewells and go their separate ways.

x

A few hours later, he is standing before the door to her condominium.

He doesn't knock.

Not yet.

He contemplates this moment.

Two months ago, he had stood at this very door, begging for her to open up.

His fruitless visits continued the following four weeks.

He reflects that two months of her silence was an incredibly lenient consequence when she had endured his without complaint for twenty-one.

He still has trouble wrapping his head around her admirably large amounts of patience when it comes to him.

Finally, he knocks.

He doesn't hear anything for a long time, and the pits of his stomach start to fill with despair.

She's not going to open the door after all.

Then, he hears the patter of footsteps, and she is standing there in a sweater and shorts, holding the door open and looking a little out of breath.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "I was trying to figure out the coffee machine. It's new."

She steps aside.

"Come in."

He crosses the doorway and releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Without much thought, he takes his usual seat in his preferred armchair in her spacious living room while she glides back into the kitchen.

He glances around and is comforted by the fact that everything looks almost exactly the same.

There is a new vase of fresh peonies on the coffee table.

All the furniture, however, is in the same place, and her old bookshelf lining the far wall is still struggling to house all her many novels, heavy textbooks, and medical journals.

He's told her countless times that she should replace it since her collection of literature is constantly growing and doesn't think the poor bookshelf can take it any longer, but she always responds with the same, _"But you bought it for me."_

She has always been so sentimental.

His mind is torn away from memory lane when the subject of his thoughts enters the room with two mugs of hot coffee.

One thing they both learned to appreciate in college was a good cup of dark roast.

She hands him one and sits in the matching armchair across from him.

It doesn't escape his notice that she's sipping from the mug he bought for her as part of her congratulatory gift when she had gotten accepted into her first top tier medical school.

He had always given her practical gifts. He never understood the novelty of pointless trinkets.

He appreciates that she is a practical person.

Faded from years of use is the molecule for caffeine printed on the side of the ceramic.

She is nerdy like that.

"This is good," he compliments. "What is it?"

"Sumatran roast," she answers. "Tsunade-shishou picked it up for me when she was in Indonesia for a medical conference."

He nods.

She had always been close with her professor.

They spend a few more moments in silence, enjoying their coffee, until she finally speaks.

"Sasuke-kun, I'm sorry for everything I said that night. I shouldn't have put you in that position. It was inconsiderate of me and—"

"Sakura, please," he interrupts. "Please stop apologizing."

Her open mouth closes, and she looks down at her painted toes.

He sighs and puts down his mug on her glass coffee table.

"Look, I…" he trails off.

She looks up at him expectantly.

He's never been very good at expressing himself, and even though he's finally come to an understanding of _them_ and he's known her for most of his life, he finds himself surprisingly afraid.

He doesn't realize his lack of words upsets her.

She takes a deep breath.

"Sasuke-kun, I get that you don't feel the way I feel about you. You don't need to say anything to try to cushion the blow for me or anything. We're both adults. I've already moved on. Honestly, I just miss my best friend. We've never had a problem before, and I regret letting my emotions get the best of me and saying something that threatened our friendship."

She smiles reassuringly at him.

Now he's the one upset.

Does she think he can't see past that fake smile of hers? Does she take him for a fool?

He may have missed a lot of things regarding her in the last twenty-one years, and that's his ignorance, but he _knows_ her.

He does. He knows her.

He's sure of it.

"What a load of _bullshit_."

His roughness startles her, and her eyes widen.

"Excuse me?"

"Who do you take me for?" he demands angrily. "We've known each other for over _two decades_, Sakura. Do you think I'm going to believe you when you say you've moved on after only _two months_? Are you really going to be content with us being best friends for the rest of your life after everything? That's total bullshit."

They're both standing now, him breathing deeply and her bristling with suppressed rage by the end of his short tirade.

"Well, aren't you quite the arrogant one, Mr. _Uchiha_," she nearly growls, emphasizing his last name as if it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

He ignores her jab and continues.

Much to his—and her—surprise, the words come easily.

"Do you even know hard it's been for me these past two months? We've been by each other's side for so long that I didn't even know what life was like without you until you started to avoid me. And I hated it. I hated every second of it. You think I ruined _you_? No. You ruined _me_."

A stunned expression replaces the anger on her face.

As if his previous struggle for words never happened, he goes on.

"I took you for granted, I know. And I'm sorry. You were always there—a constant in my life—and I took you for granted. It's my fault for never saying anything, never doing anything. I hated seeing you date all those nobodies, and I hated whenever you cried because of them, but I didn't fight for you. I'm sorry for that too. I didn't understand it then, but I do now."

Tears are welling in her eyes.

"I should've fought for you, Sakura. I should've. I should've been your first and your only. I've let too many years go by not doing the things I should have done. I'm sorry, Sakura. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

He doesn't know when he's gotten so close to her, but there is no mistaking the love that has never left her gorgeous viridian eyes.

He wants to touch her, and this time, for once, he does.

His hand reaches out to tuck petal pink strands that have fallen out of her careless hair bun.

She seems startled but doesn't move when he leans in impossibly close.

His voice is soft now.

"Can you honestly tell me, Sakura, that you've moved on, that you'd be content with simply being friends?"

His hot breath tickles her ear, and she shivers.

"No…" she whispers so lightly that he only catches her answer because her lips are right by his ear.

He pulls back to look at her, his hand brushing her hair back again before finally resting at the base of her neck.

"Good," he says with finality. "Because I'm never letting you go."

Then, his lips are crashing onto hers, and he feels the loose streams of tears running down her face as she kisses him back.

Their breaths are hot and their kisses desperate as they hold one another as close as physically possible.

He wonders if this is everything she had ever hoped for because this is better than he could have ever dreamed.

She may not be the same, unchanging girl he's expected her to be his entire life, but he thinks this is better.

He prefers this something more.

She is different.

But she is still his constant.

"Don't ever, _ever_ leave me again."

She grins happily against his lips.

"I am forever yours."

x

One year later, he is helping her move into his condo.

In the beginning, she had argued that she liked her place and didn't want to move when she had worked so hard in designing it to her liking and had worked even harder to pay off the mortgage, but when he had made the case that his place was bigger, had a better view of the city, and was closer to her hospital, she relented.

However, they had decided against selling it and thought it better to rent it out to tenants. So all her efforts would not be lost.

He's unloading the last of her boxes when he sees the ancient bookshelf in the back of the moving truck.

"You should really get rid of that thing," he says as she's walking back to him. "It's falling apart. If it breaks with all your books in it, it's going to be a mess to clean."

She stands beside him, and he slings his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.

She smiles up at him and says, "But you bought it for me."

He rolls his eyes.

"I'll buy you a new one."

She giggles and pecks him on the lips.

"Okay, Sasuke-kun."

He smirks, and she squeals in delight when he pulls her in for a better kiss.

x

"_You are forever mine. You are never leaving my side again. Do you understand?"_

"_There was only ever you, Sasuke-kun. There was only ever you."_

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Thanks for reading!

_desmonstres._


End file.
